


Emerged

by yeaka



Category: Olympus (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fix-It, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: After his worst fall, Lykos gets back up.
Relationships: Lykos/Kimon
Kudos: 1





	Emerged

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Olympus or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The light is pressing at his eyelids, but Lykos resists, won’t open them up, because he knows there’s nothing good to see. He can’t hear his father’s groans anymore, bitter whimpering or the echoes of cruel laughter, though he thinks he can still catch the echoes of his father’s feet running off, leaving him to die.

To die. He was injured in a petty squabble in his own dungeon, trying to protect a man that never loved him. It comes back to him, and Lykos’ throat clenches, body seizing up. There’s a dull throb at his side but no other pain. Something warm and damp presses against his forehead, dabbing at the sweat formed more from fear and agony than any real effort. A soothing noise washes over him, and soft fingertips brush gently through his hair. 

He realizes that his head is raised off the ground. There are no pillows in the dungeon, and it’s not hard as rubble, but stiffer than the soft earth under his body. Then the understated scent of cedar and lilac ebbs into him, and the memories send his eyes flying open.

Kimon’s lips fall open. He gives a little gasp, then a delighted chuckle melting into a smile, blond brows drawn together in pained joy. The damp cloth at Lykos’ forehead slows, and Kimon bends over him. Kimon’s nose falls right to Lykos, and that touch is like lightening, because Lykos knows at once from it that this is _real_.

He can see the sun-dappled leaves above and feel fallen ones beneath him. He instantly knows he’s in the woods but can’t think to ask how or why, because his vision narrows in on the man crumpled around him. He’s pulled into Kimon’s lap, cradled in Kimon’s loving hands. Lykos can still feel the _love_ there. And it hurts more than any of his wounds did, because he still loves Kimon too.

He’d been prepared to suppress that for the rest of his life. 

“I’m sorry,” Kimon mutters. The words are hoarse, as though his throat is scratched, as though he’s been crying—and when Lykos focuses, he can see the trails of dried tears on Kimon’s handsome face. Kimon’s thumbs affectionately stroke his cheeks, nose tilting to rub them together, face shifting so he can peck Lykos’ lips. Lykos knows he shouldn’t arch up into it, but he does, can’t help it, is so profoundly glad to see Kimon again. To know he’s still alive. 

Lykos doesn’t understand how _he’s_ still alive. He opens his mouth and finds that his throat is parched but not cracked. His skin feels relatively clean, devoid of the dirt and dust of the dungeon. He can hear the distant rumble of a river nearby and thinks Kimon must have washed him with it. Kimon’s also seen to his wounds, tended him, held him. Lykos fumbles through a myriad of questions before rasping, “How?”

Kimon doesn’t answer at first. He sucks in a long breath, full of palpable relief. He kisses Lykos’ cheek, then temple, then the crown of his head, like they’ve all been bottled up and can’t stop now. Kimon draws the wet cloth aside and kisses Lykos’ forehead last—Lykos’ eyes flutter closed.

“I found you in the dungeon. Pallas had shown me them before, and I knew secret ways even the guards weren’t aware of. I found you lying there, and at first thought you dead, but I breathed into your lungs and felt your faint heartbeat in my hands and I...” Kimon pauses, swallowing. It seems hard for him to retell, and Lykos can only imagine. It can’t have been easy, sneaking past all the enemy soldiers, carrying out the limp form of one wounded prisoner. He wouldn’t have thought a simple scribe capable of it. 

Then again, he knows Kimon is so much more than that. The thought brings back their final words—him sending Kimon away, saying _never_ to return. He doesn’t get a chance to dwell on it—Kimon starts again. “I’m so _sorry_ , Lykos. For everything. For the lies, the deceit—”

“Not your fault,” Lykos croaks, even though the ruin of their relationship was. The ruin of their city wasn’t. 

“You don’t understand. The lies Pallas had me tell... it was true, that he rescued me, but when the city fell and we knew we were going to die, he told me the truth—that I wasn’t the king’s son at all, but—”

Lykos’ breath hitches. Kimon offers a bitter smile and nods. “Yes. I’m sorry. We’re not brothers, not even by half. I’d thought... but it was just another of his and Xerxes schemes, to drive a wedge between us when the time was right, when you were at full power and needed to be culled—but even then, I wouldn’t have let them. You know that. I love you—”

The forest overhead swims before his eyes. Lykos can barely even process it. He shouldn’t know if he can trust Kimon’s words anymore, because this could be another lie, but when he looks into Kimon’s watery gaze he knows it’s not. He knows Kimon didn’t want to lie to him before and was earnest when confronted. He can feel Kimon’s hands around his face and _knows_ , as sure as he’s ever known anything in his life, that Kimon loves him. 

He slowly lifts a hand to clasp Kimon’s. His own limbs feel stiff—he doesn’t know how long he’s been out. But they work. He threads his fingers between Kimon’s, and Kimon finally breaks, letting out a trembling sob as he cocoons around Lykos. Lykos reaches up with the other hand, squeezing his broad bicep, massaging him and trying to comfort him. Because it’s better now. Somehow.

At least, Lykos is. He doesn’t know what’s become of his father or the city. But he finds he doesn’t even _care_. He has Kimon again, changed into less surreptitious clothes, a simple brown tunic and even his hair cut at the back, the long curls gone. A glance down his own body shows that Lykos has also been put in more common clothes. A wise precaution. He doesn’t have to be the fabled prince anymore, or the useless second son of warring parents and nations. And Kimon isn’t his scribe or brother but simply a man he owes his life and heart to. 

In a strange way, it’s the best outcome he could’ve hoped for. 

He sucks in breath and tries to move, pushing up, hands falling to the ground to steady himself as he pushes through. Kimon’s breath holds as he watches, braced to help but allowing Lykos the dignity of trying. Lykos manages to sit, finding himself stiff but whole. He takes a proper look around him—non-descript woods, free from the folly of other men. He looks at Kimon and has never seen anything more beautiful. But he’s always been biased. He loved Kimon from the first moment they met. For a brief moment he thought that a familial bond, but now he knows how wrong that was. It feels _right_ again. 

Kimon’s tears break for another shuddering smile. Lykos takes his hand and squeezes it. 

Lykos leans in for one of those sweet kisses he’s so missed, and life begins again.


End file.
